


Your Puddin' Wants You

by BatsyBatsyBatsy



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:34:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9782054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatsyBatsyBatsy/pseuds/BatsyBatsyBatsy
Summary: Sequel to Where Are You Looney Tune?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my interpretation of how long it took him to find Harley. I apologize if you’ve been waiting for this and it’s kinda bad. Also I’m writing this while my mental state is not very good, let’s see how depressing this can get.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was not supposed to take this long. He was not not supposed to end up here.

The bedroom was not supposed to become an unbearable place to be. Causing destruction, causing chaos, hell, even so much as shooting someone wasn’t supposed to become so lonely. Yet joking around with no one to admire your humour is a justifiably sad business, and not that he’d ever admit it, that’s what the Joker was, sad.

2 weeks into Harley’s disappearance, Joker was more mad than anything. Finding her had been but on the back burner (maybe he was half hoping she’d turn up on her own) and his every waking moment, which was every moment, was dedicated to revenge. He blamed the world for the fact that his favourite play thing had gone missing, and he destroyed where ever he went. This wasn’t exactly unusual behaviour for the Joker, but this destruction came with less laughter and much more irreversible damage. Instead shooting up a building and taking what he wanted, or maybe what she wanted, he burned the place to the ground and watched with stone cold eyes. Instead playing with one victim, drawing out the death and torture as long as he could, he would shoot and stab, killing in quick succession, because no one was innocent, everyone had wronged him. And why bother put on a show when you had no one to cheer you on?

1 month into Harley’s disappearance, revenge became boring, and what with never being able to get his hands on the two big culprits, Gordon and the Bat, he began to feel like he was wasting his time. Harley still wasn’t home, and he realized she wasn’t coming on her own. 

At this point, being alone was actually starting to take a toll on the Joker, and it was becoming visible. The man always looked positively immaculate, and now, he seemed to have dulled. Smile less wide, teeth less blinding. He almost always looked bored when at his club, because no matter what dancer they had that night, she wasn’t Harley, and she was, in his mind, and absolute train wreck compared to her. They simply didn’t, couldn’t, and would never do “it” for him. Harley had a certain something, maybe it was the fact she was bat-shit crazy, totally unhinged-mad, he never could out his finger on it, but he knew no one could compare.

2 months in, he had no more time for his personal endeavours, Harley being gone made everything un-fun. His smile was becoming a rarity, he was aware of that fact, and he wasn’t okay with it. He needed her home, fast, for his sake. He missed having his own personal cheerleader, his missed hearing her laugh, without fail, at every single one of his jokes. Her laugh always mixed perfectly with the screams of his latest comedic bit. Now, nothing. He had always been a firm believer in the fact that silence was deafening, and her silence had him going blind too. 

Public appearances were rare for him, he sent his goons to do all the work now. Everyone, except Frost, were now doing 100% of his “work”. Frost, was the only one smart enough to look for Harley. A group of more trusted men were now in charge of the club, and he only came in when, what he liked to called, business disputes, arose. On a regular day, getting a face to face with the Joker was a terrible honour, and if you were oh so unfortunate as to receive one, you best had learned to hold your tongue. Now a days, it was certain death sentence, for those who distracted him from getting his Harley back deserved nothing less than the most painful death.

The 3 month mark came with a tremendous turn of events, that, thankfully wouldn’t last long. Anyone present in the Joker’s penthouse that night, those left alive anyway, would recount it as the most petrifying moment of their lives. It started a goon being sent to Joker to tell him that his latest lead on Harley had turned up empty. This lead also happened to being the first one he had been able to find since she went missing. From Frost’s point of view the night went a little something like this:

He was downstairs, hovering near the foot of the grand staircase, anxious to hear the Joker’s reaction to this news. He heard a gun go off, and the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the floor, that much he had expected. What he didn’t expect was the crashing, and yelling that followed. His feet slammed on the steps as he dashed to find out was was going on. Closing in on the bedroom, he could hear wood splintering, and could it be? Laughter? He hadn’t heard that in a while. Frost arrived in the doorway, and he was shocked.

“Bitch, stupid fucking bitch...” Joker was muttering between wild-eyed laughter that seemed to be leaking how of him without him wanting to. Yes, laughter was an involuntary reflex, but this looked uncontrollable, and Frost could tell he wanted to stop, but he couldn’t.

The bedroom itself was in the process of being destroyed. The large wardrobe had been tipped on top of the body, a large pool of blood spreading from beneath it that gave the illusion the wardrobe was bleeding. His desk looked as if it had been picked up, and thrown against the wall, which Frost had no doubt he’d done, because now Joker was using one of the legs to smash the mirror of Harley’s vanity. The same vanity that held all of her makeup and the countless pieces of jewelry the Joker had acquired for her, the same vanity he had refuse to touch until she came back. This vanity was now covered in glass, but only for a moment, because not even a second after he broke the mirror, he threw the desk leg aside, and swept everything from it’s surface, smashing what could be smashed.

“She didn’t disappear, no no no, that little bitch left me...”

He jumped onto the bed, slamming the pillows into the walls until feather flew from them, and they depleted to nothing but fabric. He wasn’t done there, as he fell to his knees, digging his boney fingers into the satin sheets, and pulling until they tore. He put one piece in his mouth and grabbed the other with both ends, splitting it clean in two.

“She never appreciated anything, did she Frosty old boy?”

Frost hadn’t even realized the Joker knew he was there.

“Nothing, that bitch, leaves me, turns me into this, I’m gonna kill her” More laughter “I’m going to fucking kill her Frost.”

After this announcement, he destroyed everything Harley owned, burned her clothes, broke her shoes, smashed her guns, snapped her knives. Then he killed. To this date, Frost swears it was the biggest massacre the Joker ever went on. The GCPD is still finding corpses today.

Before moving onto the city, the Joker killed every last goon he could find in his penthouse, a lucky few hid well enough to survive, then there was Frost, who was merely ignored, he felt so honoured.

Mr. J returned home with the sunrise. No one quite know what happened that night, there are few witnesses, and even those, only caught a glimpse of him, maybe a flash of green hair, a blink of he purple suit. The only things that are for certain that night are, countless people died, 6 buildings crumbled to the ground, 3 burned down, and the Joker returned broken, bloody, and with a black sharpie smile drawn around him mouth.

Frost was the only one left in the penthouse, and the Joker looked him dead in the eye and whispered;

“Harley never learns of this.”

As he stumbled up the stairs, Frost could have sworn he heard him say, “Harley would kill me if she found out.”

As more months flew by, the bedroom had been completely shut up, Joker refused to set foot inside, and chained the door shut with an, albeit, over-dramatic chain.

Joker had taken to spending his time in a previously empty room, one of the many he had no purpose for. It had started with him taking his nightly drinks in there, sitting in the middle of the floor. Maybe he’d leave a knife or gun behind, the room was actually quite a mess of empty bottles and mismatched weaponry for a while. However, one day, the knives had been arranged into a neat circle, then the guns around them, he added his empty liquor bottles as well, then he started requesting things, the oddest of things. Obviously not from Frost, Frost had been ordered not to speak to him unless in was news of Harley. But his other goons, new ones he’d brought in, he sent them to fetch him more weapons, then laptops, 3 dozen roses, a piano at one point, but everyone heard him destroy it. The requests became weirder and more frequent, odd knickknacks, stacks of cash, full bottles of various alcohols he never drank from, tablets, iPads, a ridiculous amount of specifically joker and queen playing cards, even baby’s footie pyjamas, but no one was certain of where those came from, the list goes on. All of this gradually building up into his very own, neat and tidy, circle of insanity. And the second the Joker, King of Chaos, starts trying to create order, you know something’s up.

After the 8 month mark he never left that room, he delegated all the things he once loved doing, killing, mind games, all of it, put on the shoulders of his men, because the Joker may not have been himself anymore, but even he knew the importance of keeping up appearances.

9 months, and he was never not drunk. He had slowly been replacing all of Harley’s things he had destroyed, adding a mannequin into his room wearing one of his favourite jester costume of her’s. The first outfit he ever gotten her, you can’t beat a classic. Some of the iPads and tablets now displayed her face twenty four/seven.

Maybe this looks a bit sweet from the outside, but don’t be fooled, this man was broken. A shell of the grand, dramatic, show-boating, attention-seeking person he was, and to see him like this, well, it would have made the GCPD throw a party, I’ll put it like that.

You see, during these months, crime had gone way down, down for Gotham anyway, it still had some of the highest rates in the country. Without the Joker, other villains and maniacs viewed it as their opportunity, their 15 minutes of fame, but without trying to catch the Joker tying up all their time, the police had could actually crack down on everyone else, but no one could top him. He was Gotham’s most wanted, no one could compare.

Order had to be restored, Frost knew this, the mob bosses couldn’t think they ran the city again, all hell would break loose, and the perfect pecking order the Joker had created in Gotham’s underground would crumble. 

Frost had been putting his full force into trying to locate Harley, he had never expected it take this long, it was as if they had erased her from society. Reduced her existence to nothing but a single mug shot circulating the air waves to serve as a warning, and a reminder the police could actually do something right. He new better, she wasn’t merely gone, Harley Quinn would never allow herself to be gone, someone knew something, and Frost was going to find it. It was, after all, all on him now, as Joker was too busy drowning his sorrows and slaughtering his liver to search anymore.

At exactly the one year mark, Frost found his final puzzle piece, a name. Grigges, first or last name he wasn’t sure, although, that would be a hell of a first name, it was all he needed.

This puzzle piece also served as a key, unlocking the ruthless killer we all know as the Joker. When he heard this, the car was brought around, and he emerged from his cave as bright and shiny as ever. A real smile on his lips instead of the one he fashioned for himself. Hair slicked back once again, clothes changed for the first time in weeks, and miraculously, he had managed to rid himself of the pungent stench of alcohol.

“Let’s play Frosty!”


End file.
